Chapter 19 Take Me to the Beach #3
“Okay.” I do the same.
“Then put both hands under you and push up so you’re kind of like … I don’t know … like a cobra.”
“Cobras don’t have arms,” I remind him.
“Fine—like a mermaid perched on a rock. Is that better?”
Having always been partial to The Little Mermaid (even though Ariel really could have done better), I nod.
“Then you’re going to bend one knee and get your first foot down—your dominant foot, whichever feels most natural—in a half-crouch,” Riff explains.
“Or … have you ever seen track and field runners with the starting blocks? You’ll be in that position when you plant the second foot.
And from there you push up to standing, with one leg in front, one behind, arms out like what I showed you before.
You’re going to do it a lot faster once you get the motion down.
You’ll paddle, paddle, paddle, then pop up quick.
” He demonstrates, springing into place like a cat. “Then you can ride the wave.”
We practice this over and over until I am catlike as well, and then it’s time try it in the water.
Riff has me sit upright and float for a few minutes to acclimate myself to the temperature and my own buoyancy on the board.
I straddle it and swish my legs, and try not to stare at the way the sun glints off of Riff’s golden hair, bringing out hints of red.
He tells me what to look for in the waves, how to glance over my shoulder and gauge them. We do some paddle practice in the calmer waters. Then we paddle further out.
Riff looks at home on his board. He paddles with ease and confidence beside me and guides us to a wave that is almost ready to break.
“Ready?” he asks.
“No,” I admit with a nervous laugh.
“We’re gonna do it anyway. Okay?”
We go to the wave, then turn so we’re moving in its same direction, and keep just ahead of the crest. As it catches up, Riff shouts, “Now!”
He pops up.
I pop up. I wobble as I try to keep my balance.
“Excellent!” he tells me.
Still unsteady, I manage to hold my position for a full four seconds before the water’s motion throws me off balance and I plunge into the icy depths.
Thankfully I’m tethered to my board so I only have to panic for a moment before I surface and get my hands on it to stay afloat.
Riff comes to my side, panting. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I wipe water from my eyes and cough a couple of times as I climb back on.
“That was a really good first try. Seriously. I think you’ll be riding waves in no time.”
And he’s right. I’m not perfect, but I catch on quickly. That doesn’t mean I don’t crash and burn multiple times, but each round I stay up a little longer than the one before, until I’m surfing side by side with Riff (albeit less gracefully than him) for a few stretches.
Once again, plenty of material for the tabloids, complete with scenes of Riff helping me back onto my board (hands on my waist or lower back and all that good stuff, which I was too focused on recovering to worry about) to be taken out of context for the label’s benefit.
As we return to the shallows, I remember what’s next on the list. I kick at the small waves, splashing Riff.
“Hey!”
“Item number five.”
“Oh right.” He drops his board.
Saltwater spews at my face. I gasp, blinking through the watery blur, and drop my own board before I return the favor.
We splash back and forth, dodging and ducking. I slosh away from him, dragging my tethered board with me.
We’re both laughing now—full, unguarded, practically involuntary laughs that make it hard to breathe—and he catches up before I can splash him again, grabbing my wrists so I can’t slap at the water.
So I use my feet instead. I’m relentless and I drench him (I mean, he would be drenched if he wasn’t already) but then he maneuvers me into a straightjacket hold, flipping me around and forcing me to wrap my arms around myself so I can’t move.
“What now?” he teases.
I raise my legs and kick around but he’s too strong for me. I only barely manage to sway him. Only after several tries do topple him, and we collapse together.
Riff releases me and slicks his hair back, trying to catch his breath, and grins. “Alright, you put up a good fight.”
“So did you.” I slick back my own hair and twist the length of it to wring it out.
Our boards float beside us.
We sit in the surf for a minute and then Riff says, “We should try to warm up.”
Item number six:
Wrap up together in the same beach blanket
“Yeah … I guess we should.” At least we’ll be more than halfway through the list. Plus, the ocean chill is seeping into my bones. It should just be a quick minute or two to make sure the photographer catch us together, and then it will be over.
I stand up and grab my board. Riff does the same and we slosh out of the tide onto the sand and unleash ourselves from the surfboards.
Riff dramatically grabs the zipper cord from his back and pulls it down in a smooth motion.
Getting his arms out of the sleeves is … less smooth. The suit fights him, suctioning to his skin.
I watch him wrestle with the neoprene for a few seconds—while he mutters curses—before I try my own zipper and begin to peel off the second-skin material.
The rush of air when I expose my skin does me no favors. My teeth chatter and I immediately go for my towel.
“What’s next?” Riff asks as he swipes a different towel down his arms and legs.
“Blanket,” I reply.
He shivers. “Of course.”
Together we unfurl the large beach blanket, which is off white with bands of navy blue and has tassels on two ends. Riff drapes part of it around my shoulders, then his, and we get closer to each other, although not close enough to be touching.
As both of us tremble, I say, “I think we’re going to need to do number ten early,” and nod toward the portable fire.
It’s a vented cylinder with a propane tank attached, and some knobs around the outside. We kneel beside it, wrapped in the blanket, and Riff figures out how to get the cylinder lit. In no time, the flames flicker inside of it like magic, and I moan at the warmth that wafts out.
“I know this is an uncomfortable situation,” Riff says, “but let’s be practical: We probably need to get a little closer to each other.”
Teeth still chattering, I nod and say, “Okay,” because it feels like my bones are made of ice and I don’t have the strength or the will to argue.
“Permission to put my arm around you?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He slips his arm around my waist and pulls me up against his side, then tightens the blanket around us.
Suddenly all I can think is that, I’m pretty sure, technically, it would be more beneficial to do this naked to better share our body heat, and the thought of us full-on skin to skin sends a flutter between my legs.
Dammit. NO.
Thank God Riff is too busy shivering to notice me blush.
It could be another fan fiction, I think sardonically.
Take Me to the Beach by Anonymous_User
MATURE | M/F ROMANCE | CONTENT WARNINGS: NO | COMPLETED WORK
Harmony Sonora (Musician), Riff Hurley (Musician), Real Person Fiction, Sex on the Beach, Spicy Romance
After a surf lesson on a private beach, Riff Hurley and Harmony Sonora begin to warm up to each other in more ways than one.
Stripping off their wetsuits, they huddle together under a blanket, only to realize that it won’t be sufficient to elevate their temperature in a timely manner.
The only solution is remove every last scrap of clothing between them and go full body contact.
Riff shimmies out of his board shorts. Harmony takes off her swimsuit.
Now completely bare, things heat up fast.
I can’t express how much this blooming fantasy makes me hate myself.
Riff clearly still has feelings for his ex, and every romantic moment he and I have had has been an illusion (including that kiss that not only lives rent free in my brain but has also completely redecorated the place).
If I had been less of an idiot sooner, maybe there would have been a chance for us, but not anymore.
We don’t talk for a while, I think because we both need to direct all our energy into soaking up the fire’s warmth and using it to achieve homeostasis. Reluctantly, I nestle into Riff’s hold, grateful for the heat accumulating at the places where we touch.
Eventually, I can feel my blood flowing normally again, and my body tingles in response.
“Are you good?” Riff asks.
“I think so. You?”
“I think so.”
The sun is getting low, not quite ready to set but making a noticeable shift in light over the water. It’s good we finished surfing when we did, because the air is colder now.
“We only have three more things to do.” I slip one arm out of the blanket, snatch up my phone, and open the list. From where I hold it, Riff can see the screen too.
Listen to a song using the same pair of headphones
Have a drink together
Roast marshmallows
“I think we could realistically do all three at the same time,” he says.
Now he reaches out to drag the YETI closer to us, pops it open, and pulls out a few options. Mostly it’s San Pellegrino sparkling waters (the Ciao line) and cold-pressed juices—and they’ve been on ice. I never imagined I’d be longing for a warm beverage on a beach date.
Riff takes a pineapple juice and I take the first San Pellegrino (the lime flavor) because I don’t care what it is; I just need to have something in my hand for the photos and I’ll only be taking a few sips for show.
“Live, lime, love,” Riff says when he hands it to me.
Smh.
We spear some of the marshmallows on the provided skewers and Riff leans them up against the fire cylinder at an angle so we don’t have to hold them while they roast.
I dig my AirPods out of my bag and hand him one. “What song?”
“Anything’s fine. You pick.” He puts the AirPod in his right ear.